


New Year's Evil

by monkkeyslut



Category: The Posterchildren - Kitty Burroughs
Genre: Gen, New Year's Eve, secret santa gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkkeyslut/pseuds/monkkeyslut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was not how Mal had pictured his New Year’s Eve going. Although, if he were being completely honest with himself, he hadn’t actually pictured anything to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year's Evil

**Author's Note:**

> Here is your gift, punkrockdropout! I'm so sorry it's late, but I hope you enjoy it. I really like writing the Underwood's, so this was a nice change. Thanks for your prompts! :)
> 
> Also, please excuse the terrible title. You have no idea how hard it is to find good, punny new year's titles.

This was not how Mal had pictured his New Year’s Eve going. Although, if he were being completely honest with himself, he hadn’t actually pictured anything to begin with.

In the tiny cell, Mal sits as far away from Marshal as possible, without looking like he is afraid. Because honestly, Mal _isn’t_ afraid of Marshal; there is no way that his brother would hurt him with Ellie present, and Mal is almost one hundred percent sure that the Viceroy would stop him as well. But still, he is wary of his brother’s booming voice and angry eyes; he had seen what Marshal would do with a room full of heroes only yards away.

Ellie sits shivering beside him, her ripped nylons and long sleeved dress doing little to keep her warm. Mal is pressed tightly against her, but it does little to warm her up. The cell they are in is cold, damp, and something smells vaguely like rot.

It is, of course, all Marshal’s fault.

Mal had decided (well, Amira had decided) that in order to celebrate the New Year, he would go to Portland and spend it with Ellie. It was supposed to be a nice night in, relaxing and watching movies and maybe even playing games. He had actually been looking forward to it, which was rare, but when they had settled down to watch a movie Ellie had deemed appropriate for the occasion, there had been a knock on the door.

He truly should have known something was up when he first noticed Ellie’s outfit. It was far too dressy for her to just sit around all night, but he had ignored it in favor of showing her how to _really_ make popcorn.

Then, he understood.

As Marshal and a woman walked through the door, Mal stiffened, hand tightening around his ankle where a knife lay beneath his sock. Ellie, for her part, looked bothered. “M, I told you I was--”

“No,” Marshal snapped, hands on his hips as he stared between Mal and Ellie. “We have _standing plans_ for New Years, Ellie!”

The woman behind him sighed, “Marshal, let’s just _go_ before we lose our reservation.”

It all went downhill from there, honestly. Mal had listened as Marshal whined about Ellie having stood him up, and he was annoyed himself to see Ellie’s resolve crumble--she clearly wanted to go with Marshal, but was hesitant to add Mal to the mix. This was obvious and perhaps a bit nice, but it made Mal feel terrible, and so he stood up and rubbed his buttery hands with a napkin, and asked, “What are we doing?”

Getting jumped by a poster with the ability make them do whatever he said was not, in fact, what was on Marshal’s game plan.

“Y-you know,” Ellie chatters, fingers tight around her arms. Her voice, which had already been weak from the crappy weather, was even lower now. “If you we-weren’t such a d-d-douchebag, people might not w-want to turn you in!”

Marshal glares. “There are _plenty_ of people who don’t want to turn me in! Look at Vee--”

“I’m really thinking about it right now,” Vee breathes, cutting her eyes at Marshal. He still cannot believe she is a Valkyrie to be entirely honest. He was under the impression that they possessed common sense, and therefore would not even associate with Marshal. He was learning that he was very, very wrong. “If this idiot calls the BPHA and another team shows up and _I’m with you_ it will not be pretty.”

Marshal waves a hand nonchalantly, which seems to further enrage both Ellie and Vee. “I have it taken care of--”

“NO YOU D-D-DON’T!” Ellie shouts, but her voice is hoarse enough that she signs the next few things, that Mal vaguely recognizes as swear words.

Marshal at least looks a little chastised, and Mal finds himself chuckling at the look on his face.

Only to nearly bite his tongue in half when Marshal turns a furious look on him. “Something funny? Because I’m pretty _goddamn sure_ we wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t made Ellie stay home.”

Mal colours. “I didn’t _make_ Elouise do anything. It’s obvious that this entire debacle is your fault, considering you are the one they are after.”

Marshal grits his jaw so tight, Mal is afraid it might break. “Now you listen to me you little fu--”

A loud, angry clang from somewhere outside their cage cuts him off. Marshal sits back, the angry look replaced by a smug expression. Mal feels a sliver of dread race down his spine.

When Marshal speaks again, after several moments of loud clanging, it is to Mal. “Now watch and learn, kid.”

Ellie shuffles closer to him as the noise grows louder. Mal does not like the situation they are in, nor does he like the fact that Ellie will probably be sick after this, but he doesn’t hate that they are ringing in their New Year this way. All bickering aside, it has been fun watching the Viceroy scatter and irritate Marshal, and it has been fun watching Marshal squirm under Ellie’s angry gaze.

He is just not sure what to tell Mother when he calls her tomorrow.

Before Mal can panic too much about calling his mother, the door to their cage slams open, and a bubblegum pink head pokes through. “Hiya, need a rescue?”

\--

Catherine Newmeyer, A.K.A. Copycat is apparently their rescue. Mal does not know why this surprises him, because Marshal seems to have his claws in every part of Mal’s world, but it does. Miss. Newmeyer did not seem to Mal like the Marshal befriending type.

Their assailant is tied up tight in the middle of the room, two black eyes and various wounds all over him, though none are life threatening.

“--get through to call ‘em because the lines are so busy for New Year’s. Funny, huh?” Copycat is saying, looking rather well put together, even with the loud, music blaring earbuds dangling from around her neck. “Also, you missed the ball dropping.”

Marshal curses, spinning around to pout at Viceroy. “We _missed it!_ I was supposed to pop champagne! We were going to sweep each other off our feet!”

Viceroy smiles, reaching a hand up to pat Marshal’s cheek. “We’ll get ‘em next year, tiger.”

Beside Mal, Ellie leans against him, clad in Marshal’s thick leather jacket, now that she isn’t entirely pissed off. She looks so little in the jacket, the shoulders sticking up slightly where her wings press against the material.

“I’m sorry your night did not go as planned,” Mal tells her, turning back to survey the room.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Ellie’s hand closes around his; he allows himself to note how much larger his hand is than hers, how her hand is not soft, but not calloused like his. It makes his stomach sing with what feels like Viceroy’s scattershapes, and he pointedly does not meet her gaze.

“It was a nice night,” Ellie rasps, and Mal looks down at her so he can read her signs.

He does _not_ tear up at the words, _I liked spending time with my brothers,_ because he is better than that. But he does squeeze Ellie’s hand, and when Marshal and Viceroy part later, Mal holds his hand out to shake.

Marshal looks at it, lip curling, but then sighs as he grabs it. “Good job on not pissing your pants, kid. I had you figured for someone who panics.”

His grip is almost bone-shatteringly tight, but Mal holds on and adds his own force, offering a cutting smile. “Do I look like a Wright?”

Marshal snorts, pulling his hand away. “Yeah, alright. At least when they panic they punch through shit. Probably coulda’ used a Wright in this sitch.”

Before Mal can reply, Marshal begins to walk toward Viceroy and Copycat, who are loitering by the door. They are probably anxious to leave, considering the BPHA will have sent someone to collect this poster. Mal figures that he and Ellie should also be on their way.

_So,_ Ellie asks as they walk home, one hand tight around Mal’s, the other signing as she walks. _Did you have fun?_

“Yes,” Mal says, nodding. He signs, _I do not know what to tell Mother._

Ellie freezes, the smile on her face sliding off as she looks on in horror. _Oh my god. Oh my god!! Do not tell her anything!!_

Mal...is not sure how that will go over, so he begins to construct a night in his head, practicing the lie he will have to tell the Queen. It is too bad he cannot tell her the truth; she will be angry, of course, but it was a nice night, all bickering and Ellie being cold aside. Marshal did not try to kill him, for instance, and Ellie...

Well, nights with Ellie are _always_ nice.

 


End file.
